Remember When?
by osborne2521
Summary: 1,026 years before Finn and Jake were flipping his bricks, Simon; the future King of Ice and self-proclaimed best wizard in Ooo, was just another oddball college student struggling with low grades, school burnout, and an eccentric redheaded student tutor...
1. Chapter 1: Butterflies

_So, little intro here. This is my first submission. I'm actually working on becoming a published author, so fanfic is, unfortunately not my first priority. Also, I'm flying by the seat of my pants, so who knows how this biz is gonna work from chapter to chapter. I own nothing mentioned in the story within. Refraining from flames and lawsuits is appreciated. Thank you and goodnight!_

Remember When.

Book one: College

Chapter 1: Butterflies.

Simon sat alone in the amphitheater, letting the wind turn the next page of his book. The autumn wind brought a chill that foretold an early winter, but this did not concern him. Cold did not bother the young college student. His lack of friends was cause for about as much concern. He was well suited to be a loner. While not particularly anti-social, he had never fit in to any clique or easily definable category, and was not given to seek out other people. Many of the other students considered him to be aloof or self important. The first was arguable true, though the second was a misconception. He did, more or less, what he pleased, went where he would, liked what he liked, and no more changed this for others, then he did ask them to accommodate. Were it not for his frumpy, slightly disheveled appearance, plain, tattered clothing, and permanent absence from the campus coffee house, he might have been mistaken for one of the hipster elite, but one look at his well-worn white sweatshirt, ordinary non-designer wireframe glasses, and five O'clock shadow dispelled any such notion. Plus, he drank Super Porp. No hipster at his school would be caught dead drinking Super Porp.

What did worry Simon were the grades from his last period. He had more or less blown it on nearly every front, though not because he wasn't smart enough, nor because of lack of interest. The last semester he had just woken up, realized he was completely unsure of his direction, and had began to loose his spark. Now was no different. If anything, he felt almost completely burnt out. He had gone in thinking he wanted to be an archeologist, but the more he learned, the less certain he felt. He had looked at other fields; everything from architecture, to psychiatry, and even graphic arts. Simon loved the different kinds of interior and exterior styles of buildings and periods, but hated drafting blueprints. And the application of medical science needed for psychiatry made his brain meat hurt. Graphic design might have been an interesting field, but his computer skills were only marginal, and he was far more interested in reading up on history and mythology than trying to learn his way around a bunch of technical computer programs. So there he sat, on the cold stone slab towards the height of the empty amphitheater, reading another book that was not in anyway relevant to any of his classes, nor to the mountain of school work he was collecting. Trying not to think about his growing collection of assignments that would soon need extending, he turned another page when suddenly, he heard an electronic jingling noise from somewhere behind him. Turing to peer over his shoulder, he looked around seeing nothing at first, but then glimpsing a movement in the gnarled tree that grew crookedly off to one side of the highest point of amphitheater. A young woman, roughly his age, give or take a couple of years was lazily laying against one of it's branches, her right leg dangling off the side. She somewhat resembled a large cat, lethargically relaxing on a branch in the neighborhood park. That is if that cat was typing disinterestedly on a cell phone, and rather cutely munching on a bagel. He had seen her before, once, in the campus library. She was an earthy, but stunning beauty with red hair, soft, rounded features, and horned rimmed glasses, that should have looked about fifty years out of style, but on her invoked the sensibility of an archetypal sexy librarian. She wore a long blue cardigan, and a sweatshirt, much like his, except purple, and in better condition. Her bluejeans and tennis shoes, while also similar, were also more fashionable, and less well-worn. She grumbled something, put her phone away, and then put the bagel in her mouth before letting go with her hand to scratch her knee, happening to look up at him in the process. His eyes caught hers, and she froze, blinking a few times, and mumbling something that was drowned out by the mouth full of bagel. Realizing her error, she quickly removed the chewy bread snack, and finally spoke. "Oh, don't mind me.', she called, waving daintily. 'Just breaking up with my dingus of a boyfriend." She patted her jeans pocket with the phone for emphasis.

Simon blinked a few times himself, and stuttered. "Um... Oh...' She had spoke to him. The pretty girl had spoke to him. Such things did not happen often, and when they did, he was never anything less than completely ill-prepared. Think, Simon... THINK! He pressed his brain, only then realizing that he was still making soft guttural noises, and mouthing half words. 'I'm sorry about that. How very unfortunate." How very unfortunate? Really?! He knew that even as reserved and proper as he might be, he was not that formal. Why don't you just talk to her in your jauntiest British accent? He mentally berated himself.

"Eh.', she shrugged. 'Don't be."

Struggling to find something to say, Simon continued to stare at her. He could feel the awkwardness rising to critical levels. Or perhaps that was just the blood rising in his face and heating his ears. Another breeze blew, and tossed her dazzling red hair around. She raised a hand to manage the wild strands whipping about her face and neck, closing her eyes in the process. The heat in his ears quickly rushed to his cheeks, and as if drawn to it's warmth, the butterflies in his stomach began to flutter and dance around, pushing his heart up into his chest. Simon found himself unable to look away from her beauty. That is until she gracefully brushed the last strand away and opened her eyes, which focused like beacons onto his. A sudden rush of panic surged forth, and he tore his gaze away staring at his book in the hopes that his eyes would remain in his head. They did. "O-okay.", he managed, mentally punching himself square in the temple. How completely bone-headed! Stupid Simon! Stupid, stupid, stupid! He sat there, staring at his book and not saying a word. Some time passed, but he did not dare look up. Eventually he turned a page, and it occurred to him that he hadn't actually been reading for a bit. He turned back, but his concentration was shot. He could still feel her watching him; still feel her, cutely snacking on her bagel. Finally, he braced himself, though whether for further embarrassment, or avid disappointment he was uncertain. He looked up. She was gone. Disappointment. Then there was a slight shuffle from directly behind him, followed by a soft plop.

"What are you reading?" The voice, genuinely curious, was crisp; almost sharp but sweet, like a soda, or the sound of a tiny bell. It was new to him, but he recognized it. Turning around slowly, almost cautiously, he looked up at her. The disappointment scattered in all directions like leaves on the breeze, but the embarrassment returned on the winds early-winter chill. She hadn't left, or maybe she had, only to return. Either way, the beautiful redhead was now sitting comfortably on the stoop one up from his. Though a good four feet of freshly trimmed grass danced between them, Simon felt as though she were impossibly close; nearly on top of him.

He searched feverishly for more words. "Uh, um...', C'mon Simplemon, don't donk this up!, he mentally shouted at himself. 'Book!", he finally exclaimed. His insides froze, though whether from the horror of his utter failure with words, or from all the blood in his body migrating to his now burning face, he could not be sure. Probably both.

The girl tilted her head to the side, giving him a bemused look, then giggled. Her giggles quickly turned into laughs, and the butterflies in Simon's stomach began to flutter about again; this time in confusion, as if wanting to know why his heart was draining fluids from the rest of his body to convert into an additional reserve of blood to be pumped into his red, burning face. "I would never have guessed!', she declared, finally calming a bit. 'Do tell. Y'know, I've heard about these 'book things' but I've never seen one. What are they for?" She giggled again, in spite of herself.

Great, he thought, now she's mocking me, just like them.

Noticing his sullen expression, the girl suppressed her last laugh, adjusted her glasses, and sighed. "Oh, relax! I was just teasing you is all. Come on, what's it about?"

"Huh? Oh.' Doing his best to shake off his befuddlement, Simon closed the book, and looked at the cover, as if suddenly trying to remember for himself. 'It's a case study of sorts. About various myths and legends from over the world, and their, uh... their basis in actual reality."

She smiled, arching her eyebrows, interestedly. "Ooh, neat! You get it from the library, or is it one of yours?"

"Mine.', he said, finally beginning to relax, but only slightly. Though utterly terrifying in her beauty, charm, and odd behavior of paying attention to him, the girl had a calming aura about her. 'But I think there is a copy in the library, if you're interested.', he added quickly, 'or you can borrow mine. I've actually read it a few times." Way to jump the shark, he thought to himself. She didn't ask about either one of those things.

Her smile widened. "Thanks! That so nice of you. But so have I, actually. I was just looking for something to talk to you about." The blood that was finally beginning to drain from his face stopped mid-descent, and returned on its upward path. The chill in his body returned, and the butterflies, now in little parkas, stopped their dancing and began to throw a full-tilt rave complete with glow sticks and techno music.

"Huh?", was all he managed.

"Yeeeeeaaah', she casually dragged the reply along her tongue, looking away, almost sheepishly, but then looking back to him, and making unflinching eye contact. 'I actually just came out here because I knew you liked to hang around and read too." She shuffled her feet a bit, and tilted her head, but did not break his gaze.

"Oh..." Again, a one word reply was all he could muster.

There was a long pause, and the girl clicked her tongue, her smile becoming slightly more forced. "Yep." One of the butterflies in Simon's stomach broke from the party, flying up into his head space and smacked the back of his skull as if to say, 'You're 'bout to blow it, Man!'

Nearly on autopilot, he thumped the book down on the stone plateau, pushed his glasses up on his nose in a desperate effort to look dramatic, and said, far more confidently than he felt, "I'm Simon. Simon Petrikov. And who might you be, my dear?" The rave came to an abrupt halt. The butterflies and thrown down their glow sticks, produced miniature military-grade weapons, and were now waging a full scale war on their host, refusing any longer to be bound in the belly of one so stupid. Simon felt sick at his stomach. The girl looked at him curiously, but did not laugh, nor made any indication of humor. Great. He thought to himself. This is perfect. Now she KNOWS I'm a big, dumb dork. Another gust of wind blew. He didn't feel it. Then the the unthinkable happened. She smiled. The pretty girl smiled at Simon, and extended her hand outward.

"I'm Betty. Betty Grof."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2: Poker Face.

It was nearly a week later, when Simon found himself sitting in a small nook by the window in the campus library, staring out at the graying September sky. At a nearby table, sat Betty. She was now wearing a burnt orange shirt with a black fade, and dark green shorts, her red hair tied back in a loose pony tail. She was staring intently into a book on archeology, her piercing green eyes focused, still, as if trying to peer through the open page, and read those beneath it. Her left hand was less focused, however, and softly tapped a familiar but unknown tune, while in her right, a pocky stick swayed to and fro, as if keeping the tempo. Occasionally, she would break her rhythm, but not her concentration, and nibble at the crunchy snack in her hand, until it was gone, at which point she would gracefully pull another from the package, and start the routine over again. Simon watched, shifting his attention at regular intervals from Betty, to the window, to the stack of books at his side. Conversation had been sparse today, with their last exchange being brief commentary on the fact that the Library had been uncharacteristically quiet for a Saturday. This discussion had been held nearly twenty minutes ago, and since then, the young college boy had been racking his brain trying to find something to say. So far, all he had to show for his efforts, was complimenting the girls hair for the third time in an hour and a half, and fighting the urge to ask her why she was there. The two had spent the same free period together every day, for nearly half a week, and the reason for this was still unclear to him. He wanted to talk to her; to strike up and hold a conversation, but with no more than he could think of to say, the words of Mark Twain kept flashing through his mind. "Better to remain silent and appear a fool, than to speak and remove all doubt."

Looking up from her book in mid bite, Betty blinked and stared at him. "Hmm? You say something?"

Had he said that out loud. Bread balls! "Uh, no, no, Just thinking to myself."

The red haired girl blinked again, grunted indifferently, and went back to her reading. Simon watched her out of the corner of his eye for a time. He simply could not figure her out. Since that day at the amphitheater, she had eagerly convinced him to meet her for study time on the one free period they both fortuitously shared. However, since doing so, she had spoken little, and when she did, her words were reserved and guarded. For having been the one to initiate spending time together, she seemed to be rather, what was the right word? Frigid? No, that was much to strong. Though she spoke little, there was a warmth in her eyes and smile when she greeted him. Aloof? No, that didn't fit either. She was just short of aloof; her words too well chosen and sincere. Betty was simply wearing her poker face, though why this was, Simon could not quite understand, at least not to the extent of her reservation. Unwittingly emboldened by his growing curiosity, the young male closed the book and stood up. "Wanna go get a cup of coffee?", he asked, attempting to be casual.

Looking up at him quickly, as if surprised by his invitation, Betty stared for a moment. Though the young man was certain he had seen the traces of a smile tug at her lips, her eyes betrayed no such emotion, and she merely gazed into and through him, as if locking him in place without even expending any real effort, or breaking her stoic expression. "Don't you have homework?", she asked flatly.

'Poots on homework! I want some coffee! And besides, maybe some caffeine will get you talking a bit.' He wanted to say this, but found his will compromised by her stare, which somehow managed an air of authority, in spite of it's relaxed and indifferent nature. Simon looked between her and the small stack of books on the stoop next to him. "Not much.", he lied.

Betty took another bite of pocky, furrowing her eyebrows, dubiously. "Orly?', she intoned, making her disbelief deliberately apparent. Simon knew immediately that dishonestly had been unwise. 'Lets see, Simon...', she closed her book, bringing her hands together and interlocking her fingers into a bridge on which she rested her chin. 'I'm guessing you're pretty far behind in Sociology, even more so in Calculus, and as for Psych III...' there was a pause as she worked the strawberry flavored creme off the tiny biscuit stick between her teeth, before firmly biting it in half. 'Well, you DO have another week to drop the class. You don't really need it anyway, unless you're going for a field degree. If that's the case, I can tutor you next semester. I'm pretty good with Psych, though to be honest, if it's a field degree you're after, I don't know why you would let yourself get this far behind in the first place."

Simon stared at her, confused, and disbelieving. How could she have known just how badly he was doing, or have such specific insight? Was she spying on him, breaking into his private records, bribing his teachers? Reading the alarm on his face, she pushed her book aside, leaning back in the chair. "We've been coming here for about four days now, Simon. And every time, you bury yourself in that mythology case study, but you barely touch your school books. You spend MAYBE five minutes a day in your Sociology book, and sometimes around three in Calc. I've never even seen you open Psych III, so I peeped it when you went to the vending machine earlier.', she paused, nodding at his half-drunken can of Super Porp laying over the air vent to keep it cool. 'I saw your practice test. It's not my place to tell you what to do, but if those are your answers, then I'd cut my losses this time around. You didn't even finish it."

There was a long silence with a mix of cold tension and befuddlement. Simon mouthed a few words, trying in vain to bide his time till he found a voice. Betty stared at him expectantly. It quickly became clear that she had been waiting to corner him, and had done so perfectly. Now, what came next was his move to make. "W-what?", was all he managed. Oh, come on!, he inwardly chastised himself. Is that the best you can do?! What is even going on here? Why does SHE care about MY homework? She's not my teacher or anything!

Almost as if reading his mind, Betty spoke up again. "As I said, it really isn't my business, but...', she paused. 'I just don't think this is you. I think you're better than this. I mean, look at you. You clearly didn't come to school to party. You're certainly not skating by on any sports scholarships. Plus, I've heard you talk, Simon. At least when I can manage a few words out of you.', she forced a smile. 'You're really smart. So why haven't you studied, like... any?"

He couldn't believe what he was hearing. This girl had guts, to be sure, but more than that, she was jumping into some heavy assumptions. "Maybe I have!', Simon exclaimed, more aggressively than he had intended. 'How do you know I haven't been wracking my brain on that text all week? Maybe I just suck at Psych!"

She frowned at him again, and again, he knew that his lie had failed. "Because...', Betty nearly purred. 'I've been checking your homework since Wednesday. You haven't touched it."

Having nothing to say. Simon slumped back down onto the stoop. Looking away out of embarrassment. After a moment, he picked up his can of soda, taking a sip. She had no right to ransack his books, he knew that. But everything the girl was saying made sense. Even so... "You go through my bag too?", he asked, coldly.

At this, Betty sighed, and it was clear her high position had dropped a peg. "I'm not saying I was right to meddle. I know that. And I am sorry for getting into your stuff. But... I was curious. My uncle; one of my mentors, is your Psych professor. I heard him talking about how darn smart you are. But he said that lately, you've been falling behind.' she paused, removing another piece of pocky from the box, and biting off just the tip. After a few moments of crunching, she swallowed it and continued. 'I didn't even know who you were till he pointed you out. I was just gonna tell you to shape up, and stop disappointing him, but then we got to talking.' There was another long silence, then she returned her penetrating gaze to him, with such swiftness and resolve that the young student would later swear he heard the crack of a whip. 'which more or less brings us back to the present! So, the fact that I am indisputably a busy-body, notwithstanding; Simon! Why? Aren't? You? Studying?!"

Simon couldn't believe it. In an instant the young, fresh-faced, wide-eyed school girl who had invited him to study, had transformed into a fierce authoritarian. One look from her calm and affectionate, yet stern, steely eyes, and he knew the time for slacking off in his studies was not merely over, but had been for some time, and he was only now being made aware of that fact. He felt the sudden rush of panic at the realization that in neglecting his studies, he was loosing a very important battle. He felt the dreary resignation that it would be a tiresome and grueling uphill climb to regain his footing. But moreover, he felt a sense of exhilaration at the girls challenging nature. If Simon wanted to get anywhere with Betty, he had better shape up, and do it fast, he knew this already. It was then that he understood the game she had been playing. What was more unsettling, however, was that he rather liked it. "You're right.', he said, finally. 'I guess I got a little burnt; slacked off. I just dropped the ball for a second, but...', he trailed off, looking at the stack of books behind him. 'Betty, I think I really goofed."

"Yeah, no duh.', she said, evenly, earning a slightly pained look from the male. 'But I can help you, for a price."

A price? Simon wasn't sure if he liked the sound of that. Knowing this girl, or not knowing her, depending on how he viewed the situation, that could mean anything. "What's it gonna cost?", he asked, warily.

Betty said nothing for a moment, but instead, picked up the book she had been reading earlier. "What do you know about archeology? And what the what is an antiquarian?"

Tilting his head, Simon gave her a perplexed look. "I suppose I know a little.', he offered. 'And an antiquarian is-", he was cut off.

"Then maybe you can explain it to me!', pleaded Betty, exasperated. 'Or even just make it something that resembles interesting! I can work out the human mind all day. Give me some calculus or trig, and put on some music, and I can make a fun afternoon of it. Tangible theories, and figures, and numbers, I'm fine with, but this...', she sighed. 'Subjectivity and inconclusive speculations based on circumstantial evidence, people yammering on about ancient statues of fat people, and lines drawn on rocks 1000 years ago?...", she trailed off?

The scruffy college boy perked up. "But that's what makes it so interesting Betty! The inconclusiveness, the holes left to be filed, it's like a puzzle!"

Betty stared at him dryly. "No, Simon. Different methods of psychotherapy and peoples individual reactions to them are like a puzzle. The correlation between traditional therapy and medicinal psychiatry and individual psychological conditions is like a puzzle. Reading about old, rich guys spending 75 years digging for tombs that may or may not even exist, based on something they read in ancient works of fiction is boring, incomprehensible, and it makes my brain hurt."

Simon was across from her in a flash, taking the book, and flipping it open. "Oh, Betty, no! It's all in how you look at it!', he exclaimed, flipping through the pages only to stop suddenly about a quarter through the book. 'See, look here! The discovery of Moses's Map chamber, back in 1936. It was being looked for by three different countries on both sides of the war. We were way behind, but one of our guys still managed to find it because he had more information regarding the linguistics are geography of the time in which it was lost. You think its different than psychology, but psychology actually plays a major role in it, you see. Our enemies in the war were thinking far to contemporarily in their method. They were going off copies of documents and pictures of artifacts and didn't have the full information! Even so, they assumed that because what little they had was period-accurate, that it would be enough. That's why we were able to beat them to it; because it was a matter of misconception and varying degrees of information, but also about assumptions subconsciously filling in the blanks where facts should have been! It's like the theory of psychology that states that when our minds tend to focus on certain details, we can completely miss glaring irregularities; like watching people passing a ball around and not noticing the guy in the monkey suit!

The girl looked up at him blankly. She blinked a few times and adjusted her soft red hair, but said nothing, and kept her expression blank until he had calmed. It wasn't until his excitement had worn off, and he began to fidget nervously, that a mischievous yet genuinely delighted spark began to illuminate in her eyes, and a smile slowly tugged her lips upward. "Seems we might be able to help each other after all.", she said, coyly. Actually, I might even be able to turn you around in time to pass this semester."

He looked at her, uncertainly, the gravity of her words, or their conviction lost to him. "O-okay.", he offered, submissively. Though he had no way of knowing at the time, it was in that moment, that Simon set the course for his very future... and so much more.


End file.
